


strange intimacy

by SabbyWrites



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Choking, Dubious Consent, F/M, FaceFucking, Non-Consensual Photography, Original Characters - Freeform, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Manipulation, Unbeta-ed, Vaginal Sex, parody? kinda, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyWrites/pseuds/SabbyWrites
Summary: You know exactly how crazy Matt is. It still doesn't stop you.





	strange intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, hi. So this started as a joke for an OC I have-- Matt, the Pokémart employee. He looks the exact same as the other Pokémart employees, but he’s a sociopath who commits tax fraud and arson in his spare time while also just being a general menace to society. This was originally written for my discord server, but I didn’t mind how it turned out so I’m posting it here-- it’s been a while since I’ve posted explicit content.
> 
> xx sab

The sky rains down on you like a bucket of water upturned over your head; merciless,  _ endless _ sheets of water that plaster every garment you own to your skin, flattening your hair and making your Pokédex crackle a little dangerously. You hunch over it as you all but barrel into the doors of the pokémon center, drenching the linoleum floor immediately with the amount of liquid dripping from your skirt. The Nurse Joy stationed there exclaims immediately upon your arrival. 

“Oh my! Here, let me take your pokémon!” 

You let her, numbly thankful for her help given the fact that it’s easily three in the morning at this point, though your vision is too water-blurred for a moment for you to make out the time on the center’s lone clock. There’s nobody in the lobby, at least, which tells you all you really need to know; any sane trainer has gone to bed at this point, or at least taken shelter from the vicious storm. Thunder rumbles overhead, muffled by the ceiling well enough. 

There’s a strange electricity in the room that isn’t born from lightning. You have a vague clue as to what it is, though hold off on confirming your suspicions until you rub at your eyes to clear your vision. You can feel your mascara flake and clump under your skin, but the aching in your legs and spine take up all the care you could’ve used towards your appearance. 

When you pull your hands down, you see him. 

It’s not a surprise, nor does it cause your heart to clench or flip or butterflies to erupt in your stomach— but it does raise the hairs on your arms slightly, despite the heavy dousing of water that had plastered them down. The goosebumps on your calves are not born from the cold as you squint your eyes, sparing what you hope is an unimpressed look at the Pokémart employee currently looking at you with his chin propped in his hand, supported by the counter. He looks smug, but you’ve rarely seen him greet you without some sort of unearned superiority. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You wring your hair out, not even sparing a glance to the clearly displeased Nurse Joy as she places your pokémon onto the platform. Satisfied that you look slightly less hopeless than you did a moment ago, you drag your aching body over to the counter. 

“Nice tits,” is what you’re greeted with, his eyes zeroed in on the way your white shirt clings to you. If it had been anyone else, you might’ve been slightly disgusted at the comment. 

“Working on a Saturday night, huh?” You say, keeping your tone as bored as possible. One of his eyebrows immediately twitches. “Looks like you have a booming social life.” 

The smug expression drops. Of course. You can almost hear his teeth grit together. 

“Some of us have actual jobs, instead of chasing preteen dreams. You finally manage to beat a trial yet?” He says. Ouch. That one stings a little, but you don’t let it show. He’s a shark, sniffing out pricks of insecurity like a drop of blood in the ocean. 

“I’ll take thirty hyper potions.” You say instead. Your legs ache a little more than they did a moment ago, and you turn over your shoulder as Matt stoops down to grab a box of potions with an irritated gumble. “You have any empty rooms available?” 

The nurse jumps a little at your question, then presses her lips together and shakes her head. “N-no, unfortunately, but the center on Route three—”

“I got a bed you can sleep in.” Matt cuts her off without a care in the world. He stands back up, tall as all fuck, slamming the box of potions down on the counter and ripping open one side so he can start to count them. 

You tilt your head. “You do?”

“Yeah. Some of us pick professions that allow us to own houses.” He says, another jab at your failed trainer dream. You don’t even bother standing up for your decisions. “I live on route nine, ain’t a far walk.” 

You look at him for a long moment. The blue of his eyes matches his apron perfectly.

“What’s the catch?” 

“Well,” he says, scanning the potions and bagging them with a peculiar viciousness, “you’ll have to fuck me for it.” 

You raise a brow. “That’s prostitution, and it’s illegal in Alola.” 

“Does it look like I give a shit about what’s legal or not?” 

“Not particularly,” you begin, “but you haven’t been this overt in a long time. Not since high school.” 

“What can I say?” He laughs once, humorlessly, and it sounds more like a hiss through his still-gritted teeth than anything else, “I’ve had a shit week and I’m horny. At least suck my dick or sleep on the lobby floor. I couldn’t care less if you have a bed to sleep on or not.” 

It’s hard to call bluffs, with him. You learned that the hard way when he almost threw you off the cliffs overlooking the Melemele sea for deleting the creepshots he’d taken of you off his phone. That’d been a while ago, though, back when he’d had acne and you hadn’t even caught your first pokemon yet. His face has cleared up pretty well, over the years, and if he weren’t so obviously zubatshit insane he’d probably have a flock of Nurse Joys at his beck and call. You’d thought about pity fucking him once or twice when you were both in school, mostly to get him to shut up about wanting to sniff your underwear, but you weren’t sure then if you could handle the damnation of your reputation. Now that you’re over twenty and can hardly even throw a pokéball without making yourself look like an ass, the prospect looks more appealing. 

“Alright, yeah.” You say, and the gasp behind you tells you that the Nurse Joy has, in fact, been listening to your conversation. 

“Wait!” She says, as Matt begins bagging another group of potions. He shoots her a filthy look, and her voice is quieter when she speaks again, “we might be able to squeeze you in with another trainer, if you don’t mind sh—”

“Fuck off.” Matt says, and you almost snort at how scandalized she looks. She must be new— you can’t really tell. They all look the same. 

“But,” she seems to steel her nerves, “that young lady is right— it’s illegal, I’ll have to report you—”

“I’ll eat your goddamn trachea.” Matt snarls, slamming the second bag down on the counter. His shirt looks nice, around his arms. There’s a little bit of muscle there that wasn’t as defined a few weeks ago, when you’d last run into him on route two. You wonder if he’ll laugh at how soft your stomach is, then remember the picture of you that used to hang in his school locker. There’s no way. His bite is bad, but he’s all bark with you. The nurse goes silent, walking over hesitantly a few moments later to hand you your pokémon back.

And so it’s settled.

It’s really not a far walk to Matt’s place. Fifteen minutes, tops, on a nice day. Since it’s still pouring rain when Matt clocks himself out— three hours before his shift is supposed to over, the nurse meekly calls, but another threat to her internal organs shuts her up— it takes a little longer. 

“I’m surprised,” you say, looking up at him as he walks under his umbrella. He hadn’t offered for you to come under it, but you feel like that’s less of a slight against you and more of a tactic to make sure your shirt still sticks to you, if the way his eyes linger on your tits is any indication, “that you still wanna fuck me. High school was a while ago.” 

“I’m always gonna want to fuck you,” he says, without a trace of tenderness in his voice. The lit cigarette between his lips wobbles as he speaks, and he uses his free hand to pull it away as he exhales. The smoke curls up under the umbrella, then vanishes into the rain. “Might knock you down a few pegs, getting a couple loads in you.”

Your brows pinch together. “You’re not cumming inside me.” 

“We’ll see.” He says flippantly, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. After a second, he turns away from you and spits into the grass. You grimace. 

“Gross.” 

“Shut up. You’re about to have a lot grosser done to you.” He says, jutting his chin out to gesture to a little cottage between the trees. The statement doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but it does remind you, rather suddenly, that for as long as you’ve known Matt you’ve never actually been privy to his sexual tendencies. There were all the times he tried to shove his hand down your skirt in high school, you suppose, or the time he “returned” your stolen gym uniform a little more stiff than usual, but he’d never really touched you. 

Not for lack of trying. But since you’d hit your twenties, he’d gotten a little more bitter and aggressive with you. You have a feeling that it’s due to multiple things, but you’ve never been interested enough to explore the reasons. Matt will always be Matt, no matter what goes on around him. Even in the rain, he has the energy of a walking bonfire. 

His cottage is nice. Not as nice as some of the other people you’ve bunked with— that weird-ass artist on route fifteen had a coffee table worth more than your life— but it’s clean. Perhaps too clean. It reeks of disinfectant, of chemicals, of—

“Nice,” you say, touching the corkboard in the entrance with a few pictures of you tacked to it. More creepshots.

“Shut up,” he says, voice muted slightly by the intensity of the rain on his roof. “Get naked or get out.”

You pause for a moment, still staring at the pictures. One was taken when you were on a date with that trial captain— Kiawe. He’s been cut out of the picture rather viciously, if the jagged edges are anything to go by. The image is barely over a year old. 

Matt grabs the collar of your wet shirt and yanks you away from the entrance as he kicks the door shut with his foot, paying not a single concern towards your indignant yelp.

“I’m fucking done playing with you.” He says, and the way his voice hisses out makes you think he’d noticed your focus on that specific image. You scramble to get away from him the moment he releases your shirt, noting with a little bit of dryness that the bed he’d offered to you was his. It’s big, comfortable looking, with dark blue sheets. You’d been an idiot to think he’d have a guest room for you. 

You seem to be motionless a little too long for his liking. “What the fuck did I just say?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You snap, lifting your shirt over your head, dripping water onto the floor like you had at the Pokécenter. You make sure to toss the shirt onto the small area rug he has spread out, receiving a displeased grunt in response. Before you can turn to ask him if he’d rather you keep them on, he’s behind you, hands pressing into your sides. They’re startlingly warm, accompanied by the scent of cigarette smoke as his mouth dips down to nip at the top of your ear. 

“Good girl,” he says, voice a little less aggressive, and you shoot him a sour look that he laughs at. Again, humorless. You stare at him blankly, just for a fraction of a moment, wondering when the full-bellied, manic laugh you’d kind of sort of liked in high school had disappeared. You’re snapped back to reality when one of his hands comes up and squeezes at your damp bra. 

“Patience is a virtue.” You snort. He tuts. 

“I’m not a virtuous person. You of all people should know.” He quips back, abandoning your breast momentarily to unclip your bra in the back. You let him, staring blankly at his wall and wondering why you’re not resisting more. This feels less like an admission of defeat at his hands and more like a pot boiling over, and for a second your breathing hitches in your throat when you realize you really don’t mind being touched by him. 

It’s been a while, you remind yourself, thinking of that weird artist again and how he’d immediately rejected your advances. It’s been a while, you press, trying in vain to bury the memory of the relief you’d felt when Kiawe had dumped you. It’s been a while, you think desperately as Matt presses a kiss to the crook of your neck and although it’s not tender, it’s careful. Measured. He knows you’re having an internal crisis. 

He knows you. Well.

“I hate you,” you seethe suddenly, though you remain rooted in the spot. Your bra falls to the ground. 

“Yeah?” Matt says, and both of his hands go under your arms so that they can grope at your breasts, a little wet from the rain but warming up under his touch. You shudder as his chest presses against you, the canvas of his stupid fucking apron rough on your spine. The plastic of his name tag is cold. His hands feel good. 

“I can’t get laid because of you,” you seethe, surprised at the way frustration makes your voice feel thick in your throat. A chuckle rumbles against your skin. 

“Oh, I know.” He says. “You’ve been too stubborn. It’s your fault.”

You continue to scowl as he pulls away for a second, the rustle of fabric telling you that his apron has been discarded somewhere. His shirt comes next, and when he steps closer to you again you feel his bare skin against yours. You’re freezing. 

“What, you’re mad?” He snickers into your ear, and you’d be furious if you weren’t so disgustingly relieved to hear an echo of his old laugh in his tone. Now that he’s got the upper hand, Matt is a little harder to anger. “Kiawe agreed to dump you pretty fuckin’ fast, when I asked. Not a guy worth having around, don’t ya think?”

You know he’s omitting the part where he undoubtedly threatened the captain’s life. 

“Come on. Get it over with.” You say, nudging him a little with your elbow. He steps back again and this time you turn, more than ready to tell him to piss or get off the pot, but the moment you do he pushes you forward so that your legs hit the edge of his bed. 

“You’re not really in a place to be talking that way to me.” He says, leering down at your tits as if he hadn’t peeked in on you enough in the locker room to see them dozens of times before. He raises a hand to pinch your nipple, lightly, and pull at it a little. You fight down a reaction as best you can. 

“You had to force me to fuck you. I wouldn’t sound so smug,” you say, but your voice isn’t as harsh as it should be and his mouth curls into that absolutely treacherous grin.

“Oh, right.” He says, and it dawns on you a little too late that you’ve always underestimated his observation skills for whatever reason, “if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. You’re not nice enough to pity fuck a guy either, no matter how nicely he asks.” 

He nips at your ear again. You think about senior prom. Matt had begged you for thirty minutes to leave with him. You thought about his eager expression while you fucked your date later that night. 

With your silence as his answer, Matt brings his lips from your ear to your mouth, slotting them over yours. He’s tall, stupidly tall, you  _ hate _ how tall he is— 

It isn’t the first time you’ve kissed him— he cornered you way too many times in high school for you to get away from his intimacy-hungry lips— but it’s the first time in a while. It feels nice. His tongue tastes like tobacco and he smells a little bit like gasoline when you’re this close but he has a lot a freckles on his face that you like. There aren’t any visible acne scars. He’s really not bad to look at in the slightest, but he keeps his eyes open when he kisses you as if trying to remind you how much of a sociopath he is. 

Your skirt comes off pretty easily. He yanks your underwear down for good measure, fingers immediately ghosting over your clit as you step out of them, before he has both hands on your shoulders and shoves you down to your knees. You scowl up at him. 

“Do it, or I’m tossing you out in the rain.” He says, “and keeping the clothes.”

You hold out only for a second before you’re fumbling with his belt, pulling it from the loops and popping the top button of his pants. There’s an impressive tent that you have to be careful of as you drag the zipper down, and you know without even looking at it that he’s also been blessed with a massive cock. It’s almost unfair, you think as you yank his pants down just enough to also pull his boxers away, and then his dick is  _ there _ , jutting out from his body and you know you definitely won’t be able to fit it all in your mouth. He grins down at you, and you don’t bother waiting for whatever remark he’s thinking of, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his shaft and delighting a little in the way he sucks in a breath. 

You spit into your dominant hand and curl it around the base of his cock, smoothing the lubrication into his skin as you open your mouth and take the tip in. He’s meticulous in the shower, it seems. The taste of him isn’t bad, and you almost groan when you flick your tongue against his slit and find a bead of precum gathered there. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, one of his hands clawing into your hair, blunt nails scraping your scalp. He pulls, gently, and holds your head firmly in place as he begins to rock his hips. You don’t bother crying out in surprise, not when his cock nearly jams itself against your uvula. The way you choke around it seems to thrill him, his pupils constricting suddenly as he peers down at you. The material of his pants whispers against your chin as he begins to fuck your face. 

“Look at you,” he sneers, seeming more than willing to take advantage of the fact that you’re unable to talk, “you’re not even struggling. You wanted this.”

You attempt to glare up at him. He laughs, kinda like that manic laugh that you like, the one that always got you going a little bit in school, and you can’t keep yourself from using your unoccupied hand to touch at your cunt. 

“Shit,” he curses, and his pace picks up without any warning. This time, you can’t help but make a noise of shock as his cock jams itself against the back of your throat. Your eyes sting with tears as your fingers rub clumsy circles against your clit, and his grin drops immediately into something more focused, more serious. Your cunt clenches around nothing when he grabs your head with both hands, waiting for the hand around the base of his shaft to drop away before he slowly eases himself into your mouth again. This time, he goes much deeper, almost down your throat, and you gag, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes and saliva dribbling down your chin. He curses again, a little too low for you to make out over the rain, and your lips burn ever so slightly with the burden of wrapping around his shaft as he face-fucks you. 

You don’t even bother to try and steady yourself; instead, you breathe raggedly out of your nose as he continues forcing himself into your throat, his hoarse groans almost nice enough for you to forget your shortage of air for a few moments. You slip a finger inside of yourself and you know he sees you do it, because his breathing becomes quick and suddenly his hands are trembling a little—

He pulls himself out of your mouth suddenly and you cough, saliva mixed with his precum dribbling out of your mouth. Your eyebrows knit together. “Wh—” 

He stoops down for a second to grab you under both arms, lifting you and shoving you almost carelessly onto the bed. You cough again, watching with wide eyes as he steps out of his pants and boxers completely, cock shining with your saliva as he crawls on top of you. 

“If you think,” he pants as he slides his lubricated cock against your clit just to watch you shudder, “that I’m gonna come down your throat like some idiot and  _ not _ fuck your pussy, then you’re even dumber than I thought.” 

Your retort is lost as he brings his hips back slightly and lines himself up with your cunt. Your reminder of “condom!” is cut off rather abruptly once he begins to sink himself into you, yanking you closer to his body while he splits you open on his cock.

He’s the biggest you’ve ever been with. It’s maddening, almost insanity-inducing, that you’re delighting in the burn of him inside of you. He’s curved a little, only slightly, and the head of his cock drags against your walls like he’s really trying to stab you. You can’t do anything but groan, back arching to press your chest into his, and you think for a moment that he’s going to kiss you again until one of his hands curls around your throat and shoves you back down against the bed.

He doesn’t say anything as he presses down. His hand is big, his fingers long, and your startled yelp is overtaken by a clap of thunder outside. His hips work against yours tirelessly, his eyes glazed over and manic with a sloppy grin to match—

Black spots flicker around the edges of your vision like a swarm of beedrill, and for a second all you can see is the white of his teeth as he grins down at you— then he removes his hand, just enough so that you can take in a ragged breath.

He’s a lot stronger than you thought he’d be, even with the slight muscle you’d spotted earlier. If it weren’t for the measured, calculating glint in his eyes, you’d almost be afraid of him accidentally choking you to death.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He sneers as you try and drag in more oxygen. You nod dumbly as his hand squeezes your throat again, whining as his cock continues to jackknife in and out of you. “You’re so fucking tight— I bet you’ll look so good with my cum dripping out of you—”

You keen, back arching again even as his hand keeps you pinned, and once he stablizies himself enough his free hand comes upwards, pressing down on your clit none too gently as he rubs figure eights into it. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he bears down on you, choking you over and over until he sees the sign of danger in your eyes, only allowing you just a moment to breathe between presses. It’s rare that he takes his gaze from your dumbstruck face, but when he does it’s to leer at your bouncing tits.

“ _ God _ , I fucking love you.” He snarls, cock slamming you as his fingers become sloppy with their movements, rubbing at you just for the sake of doing it, “I’m gonna fill you up. I’m gonna make you  _ mine _ .”

“Please,” you rasp, the second his hand leaves your throat to fist the sheets next to your head, “I’m so close,  _ please _ —”

“Beg for it,” he grits out, obviously not far off from your current state. “Beg me to cum inside you.”

You inhale sharply, not even giving it a second thought. “Please! Please, Matt, cum inside me!”

He laughs, manic, full-bellied, the laugh that used to haunt the edges of your thoughts when you got yourself off in high school, “you have to do better than that!”

“ _ Please! _ ” You nearly shriek as he rubs at your clit furiously, the sound of his hips clapping against yours almost deafening, “Please, cum inside me! Make me yours! Don’t stop, don’t  _ ever _ stop, I want you to fill me up—!”

Your pleas crumble into incoherency as you orgasm, clenching down on his cock like you’re trying to crush it, and he lets out his loudest groan of the night as you soak him with your release. The glide of him inside you gets smoother, marginally, the slick sound of his cock penetrating you again and again the only thing you can hear over the blood rushing in your ears. He proclaims his love for you again, and again, and again, until his voice pitches upwards and you mewl in delight, feeling him finish inside of you with a satisfied groan rumbling in his chest.

The cottage descends into silence. Only the pattering of rain, slightly lessened than before, accompanies Matt’s ragged breathing.

“Fucking hell.” He groans after a minute, slowly pulling out of you. You wince at the feeling of his cum dripping out from between your thighs, but before you can untangle them from his waist, he uses one hand to keep them open.

“Don’t.” He says simply, and the even, plain tone of his voice shocks you enough into submission. He crawls towards his nightstand, flicking on the lamp and opening the second drawer to retrieve something.

A disposable camera.

“Wait a second—” You start, beginning to wriggle away from him despite the shakiness of your limbs, “you can’t—”

“Shut up.” He says again in that weirdly conversational tone. You watch, a little numb, as he spreads your legs again, bringing the camera to his eye as he uses his thumb and forefinger to spread your cunt wide open. His cum slides out a little faster as you hear the camera click.

“Perfect,” he mutters. You gape at him.

“You’re so fucked in the head.” You whisper. He shrugs, returning the camera to its drawer and flicking the light back off.

“Whatever. Shut up.” He says, as if he can’t choose between the two. He flops back onto the bed and yanks you close, pinning you to his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The strange intimacy makes you wriggle.

“Gross,” you snap, detesting the feeling of his sweat under your palms. He gives you a firm smack on the back.

“Stop being difficult. We’ll shower tomorrow.” He says in a tone that you know doesn’t invite banter. If he chokes you again, he might be a little more vicious without the sexual edge.

“I’m not gonna be here when you wake up.” You say, doing your best to at least turn away from him. He allows it, but you aren’t able to put much more distance between you two— especially when you know your previous statement is a lie. 


End file.
